The Chernagor Pirates

“What can we do?” he asked Sosia. “I don’t believe it, but people still spread it.”

“I don’t know,” she answered. “I don’t really think we can do anything about it. And I’m not so sure I don’t believe it. Why would Zenaida lie about something like that?”

“How could Limosa seem so happy if it’s true?” Lanius retorted. “We’ve seen what happens when Ortalis starts abusing serving girls. You can’t tell me that’s happening now.”

His wife shrugged. “Maybe not. Whether the stories are true or not, though, all we can do is ignore them. If we say they’re lies, people will think we have reasons for hiding the truth. If we pretend we don’t hear, though, what can they do about it?”

“Laugh at us.” To Lanius, that was as gruesome as any other form of torture.

But Sosia only shrugged again. “The world won’t end. Before long, some new scandal will come along. Some new scandal always does. By this time next month, or month after at the latest, people will have forgotten all about Limosa.”

Things weren’t quite that simple, and Lanius knew it. Limosa was part of the royal family now. People would always wonder what she was doing and gossip about what they thought she was doing. Yet Sosia had a point, too. When new rumors came along, old ones would be forgotten. People didn’t shout, “Bastard!” at him anymore when he went out into the streets of the city of Avornis. His parentage had been a scandal, but it wasn’t now. People had found other things to talk about. They would with Limosa, too.

“Maybe you’re right,” Lanius said with a sigh. “But I don’t think it will be much fun until the rumors do die down.”

Grus looked south across the Thyamis River from the walls of Pelagonia. Clouds of smoke rising in the distance showed the Menteshe had no intention of leaving Avornis until he threw them out. As he’d known, this wasn’t a raid; this was a war. The king had been eager to come into Pelagonia for reasons of his own. Now, for different reasons, he was just as eager to leave the town.

His bodyguards stirred and stepped aside. Pterocles was one of the men who could come—limp, these days—right up to him without a challenge. At Grus’ gesture, the guardsmen moved back so Pterocles and he could talk in privacy.

“I owe you an apology, Your Majesty,” the wizard said.

“You do?” That wasn’t something Grus heard every day. “Why?”

“Because I thought Alca the witch was a sly little snip who was clever without really knowing what she was doing,” Pterocles answered. “I was wrong. I admit it. She’s really very sharp.”

“Oh? How do you know that?”

The look Pterocles gave him said the wizard wondered whether be was very sharp. “Because I’ve been working with her ever since we got here, of course. Do you think I’d say that about somebody I didn’t know?”

“No, I don’t suppose you would,” Grus admitted. “But I wondered, because I haven’t seen her since we got here.”

“Do you want to?” Pterocles sounded surprised. “Uh, meaning no disrespect, Your Majesty, but you’ve got another woman with you, and Alca knows it.”

“Oh,” Grus said. “Does she?” Pterocles nodded. The king wondered whether Alca knew Alauda was pregnant. She wouldn’t be very happy about that if she did. Even so, Grus went on, “I would like to see her, yes. Not because… because of what we used to be, but because she’s a powerful witch.”

Pterocles nodded again, enthusiastically this time. “She really is. You know how you’ve been nagging me about spells to cure thralls?”

“I know I’ve been interested in that, yes.” Grus’ voice was dry. “I also know you made a point of telling me Alca’s ideas were worthless.”

“Well, they were. She didn’t understand. But now she does,” the wizard said. “When I get back to the capital, I’ll have all sorts of good ideas—hers and mine—to try out.”

“Good. We can use all the good ideas we can find,” Grus said. “And if you’d be so kind, tell her I can see her this afternoon.”

“I’ll do that.” Pterocles went on his way.

Grus wondered if he’d just been clever or very foolish. Alca was a powerful witch—and he’d sent her away from the city of Avornis. Now he came to Pelagonia not with his wife, which would have been bad enough, but with a new mistress, and one who would have his child. Would it be surprising if Alca felt like turning him into a dung beetle?

The real irony was that he didn’t love Alauda. He never had and never would. He enjoyed her in bed, and that was about as far as it went. She had the outlook of a peasant girl who’d become a barmaid, which was exactly what she was. Alca, on the other hand, he’d liked and admired long before they slept together. That wasn’t a guaranteed recipe for falling in love, but it was a good start.

He waited more than a little nervously in a small, bare room in the quarters in the keep Spizastur had given Alauda and him. He didn’t know what Alauda was doing. He hoped she was napping.

A guardsman stuck his head into the room. “Your Majesty, the witch is here.” He had tact. He’d served Grus back in the palace. He had to know all the lurid gossip about the king and Alca. What he knew didn’t show in his voice.

Gratefully, Grus answered, “Send her in.”

Alca came into the chamber slowly and cautiously. Until Grus saw how she moved, how her pale, fine-boned face was set to show as little as it could, he hadn’t realized she was at least as nervous as he was. She brushed a lock of black hair back from her forehead. “Your Majesty,” she said, her voice not much above a whisper.

“Hello, Alca,” Grus replied, and he wasn’t much louder. “It’s good to see you.”

“It’s good to see you, too,” Alca said. “I wasn’t sure it would be, but it is, in spite of everything.”

“How have you been?” he asked.

“This place is an even bigger hole than I thought it would be, and most of the men here ought to be horsewhipped,” she answered. “I didn’t much care for watching the Menteshe burn our fields, either.”

“Oh.” Grus winced. “I’m sorry. Curse it, I am sorry—about everything. When we started, I didn’t think it would end up like… this.”

“I did,” Alca said bleakly. “I did, but I went ahead anyhow—and so it’s partly my own fault that this happened to me. Partly.” She cocked her head to one side and eyed him in a way he remembered painfully well. “Will you tell this latest woman of yours that you’re sorry about everything, too?”

Pterocles had said she knew about Alauda. Grus wondered if the wizard had told her, or if she’d found out by magic, or maybe just by market gossip. Any which way, a king had a demon of a time keeping secrets, especially about himself. However Alca knew, her scorn burned. Gruffly, Grus answered, “I hope not.”

Alca nodded. “Yes, I believe that. You always hope not. And when things go wrong—and they do go wrong—you’re always surprised. You’re always disappointed. And that doesn’t do anybody any good, does it?”

“Is that why you came here? To rail at me?”

“What will you do if I say yes? Exile me to some no-account town in the middle of nowhere? I take it back, Your Majesty”—the way Alca used the royal title flayed Grus—“I’m not so glad to see you after all.”

They glared at each other. After a long, furious silence, Grus asked, “Have you been glad to see Pterocles?”

Alca’s face changed. “Yes,” she breathed. “Oh, yes, indeed. That is a clever young man. He needs to be kicked every so often—or more than every so often—but he’ll do great things if—” She broke off.

“If the Banished One doesn’t kill him first,” Grus finished for her.

“Yes. If.” The witch nodded again. “He’s dreamed of the Banished One. Did you know that?”

“It’s one of the reasons I made him my chief wizard aft—” Now Grus stopped short. After I sent you away was what he’d started to say, but he decided not to say it. “One of the reasons I made him my chief wizard,” he repeated. “It’s a sign the Banished One takes you seriously, I think.”

“An honor I could do without,” Alca said, and shivered in the warm little room.

Grus agreed with her there, no matter how much the two of them quarreled about their personal affairs. The king asked, “Have you made any progress on spells to cure the thralls? Pterocles seemed to think you